


Another Perfect Day

by tiddlypom



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, musical!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:04:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiddlypom/pseuds/tiddlypom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Extremely fluffy - inspired by Sofia and River Flows in You by Yiruma</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Perfect Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nerdyostrich](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdyostrich/gifts).



You know those perfect days when the sun shines, your stomach is full of pie and your only thoughts are on the one you love? Dean’s having one of them. He’s sure earned enough. More specifically, it’s an idle day, nowhere to go, nothing to do but smile and be in love.

Keen not to waste it, Dean drags Castiel out of bed earlier than normal that morning, stopping the angel’s mumbled protests with some strategically placed kisses and a cup of his finest coffee.

For lack of anything better to do, they find themselves ambling aimlessly through the small town in which they happen to be staying.

Dean is marvelling at the smooth touch of Cas’ hand on his, fingers circling, and wondering how his life suddenly became so good, when Cas suddenly stops and peers into the shop Dean hadn’t noticed they were passing.

It’s a music shop. Small and traditional, with a gracefully haphazard collection of flutes and violins and keyboards and other instruments Dean cannot name, glittering in the sunlight through the window.

“You want to go in?” Dean asks, unable to fathom another reason for Cas’ halt.

Cas turns to him and flashes a brilliant grin and a wink, before wordlessly leading him inside.

A bell jingles as he opens the door to the empty shop, disturbing the dust motes visible in the sun beams coming in through the windows. Quite unsure what they’re doing in here, Dean looks over to Cas, to see him scanning the shop.

“Looking for anything in particular?” a kindly old man with half-moon spectacles asks from behind the counter.

Cas gratefully replies, “Do you have a grand piano?”

“At the back of the shop, there,” the man gestures to his left and behind, and Dean is completely bemused. _What the hell Cas would want with a grand piano?_

“Would you mind if I play a little, for my friend?”

Dean ignores the reference as just a friend and does a mental back flip. _Cas plays?_ Suddenly their being in the shop makes sense, and he immediately feels bad for not knowing Cas’ thoughts on any music other than classic rock. It does make sense though really, the guy’s so old Dean will probably never find out everything that happened before he came along.

“Sure,” the old man smiles, “just don’t play Chopsticks alright?”

Cas laughs at that, though it’s meaningless to Dean, and thanks the man before heading directly for the back of the shop where the piano lay, Dean not far behind him.

He sits down and runs his fingers over the keys, lightly enough not to make a sound. They’re chipped in places, and the caramel-coloured wooden exterior looks like it’s seen better days, but the golden letters reading “Steinway” above the keyboard must mean it’s worth something as Cas smiles and says, “I couldn’t have asked for a better instrument.”

He plays a single, poignant note, checking it’s in tune, and he lets it hover sweetly in the silence for just longer than a moment.

And then he’s playing.

It’s slow at first, wistful even, as he artfully pauses to let the idea sink in. Then suddenly a waterfall of notes is being produced, tumbling, no dancing around each other, like light refracted through a diamond. Dean can see it, he can see the music itself; and it’s got Cas written all over it. It’s… well it’s heavenly.

Cas’ fingers are moving so fast now Dean can hardly follow them, but they’re never frantic. They’re smooth but wilful, like a stream, climbing up the keys and back down again, climaxing with a flurry of trills, all the while Cas’ body is moving as though his whole being is channelling the music to his fingers.

All too soon it slows towards its end, gently fading away to a sweet, murmuring echo of the first notes and stopping before Dean feels it should.

With a smile that Dean can’t help but return, Cas looks at him, happy eyes in search of approval.

“That was beautiful Cas,” he says, realising he’s tearing up and wiping the wetness away, embarrassed.

“Not exactly Led Zeppelin huh?” he jokes softly.

A moment, and the shop keeper shuffles over holding a drum stool, setting it down it for Dean.

“That was wonderful, son,” he says to Cas, “You boys stay for as long as you want now, you hear?”

“Thank you, Sir.”

He gives them a knowing smile before leaving them to themselves.

And that’s how it goes. Cas plays, Dean listens in awe. Sometimes it’s Debussy or Shostakovich; sometimes it’s ACDC or Kansas, with Dean singing along loudly and without reserve. Cas even manages to teach him a few chords of his favourites, taking him to a new, unexplored level of happiness. Perhaps this _is_ heaven.

They stay long after the dust motes are invisible. Another perfect day.

**Author's Note:**

> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7maJOI3QMu0


End file.
